Arms of the Ocean
by Geertrui
Summary: And I know that Antonio has gone. Broken by the ocean. And I hope that the water for him there wasn't as cold as it is here. Titanic-esque.


www .youtube. com /watch?v=zMBT vuUlm98

Inspiration came as I washed the dishes. Hmm. But I promise to stop churning out all this pwp. I have chaptered Spamano plot cooking in the oven, I just need to finish it before I post it. Also, penname change! I like this one better. And I think I'm serious about fic now.

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A thousand pin-pricks, daggers, swords, showering me in a way most sadistic. Relentlessly they paralyse me and leave my body to be passed smoothly, gently from current to current and downwards and upwards and so deep, so deep I can no longer see the moon, filtered through icy, deathly water and beautiful , just like him.

A thousand breaths, leaving me in tiny bubbles and spiralling and swishing with the gusts of water. Gusts. That can't be right. But I watch idly, sleepily, lethargically. As if I have all the time in the world and my lungs and my throat do not burn. However part of me tries to see which way they're going, tries to determine where the surface is, which way is up, but all this water is surging around me and knocking everything about, and all this black, oh, this black, black ocean. Wrapping me in its arms and cradling me, almost, like how Mother would to put me to sleep.

And when I close my eyes, I see his face, smiling in the cheeky, imploring way that he would. When I open them now, I think I am so deep down that I can't even see my air leaving me anymore, it's so dark. And it's scary. _It's so scary, Antonio_. But I just close my eyes and my mind and he's there. My consciousness slips. And now it is him holding me gently, caressing my face with his fingers and my body with his own.

_Antonio, you're cold. You've been slacking off again, haven't you? The ship doesn't shovel its own coal, you know._

But then, as I'm almost asleep, something rouses me, barrels into me so fast I can hardly register. Pushes me in which way I can't tell, and I don't want to open my eyes because this is a nightmare. A torment. It's peaceful and it's scary, and I can't describe it, but Antonio is not here and so it's just not right.

I break the surface then. There is no air, and with a pull I am under again. Such a nightmare. Why? Atlantic, you have won this, take me as your prize. Keep me treasure in your underwater caves or trenches, or bury me in your sand to be eaten by the fish or the crabs, or whatever lurks so deep, so deep down on your floor.

And as if it has heard me, I'm sinking once again. The cross he placed around my neck the night before as we made love is heavy and weighs me down, drowns me. But it's saving me more than the blinding white lifebelt around my chest ever will.

But that's still holding fairly well, its constricting grip latched to my torso and squeezing. Reminding me of something I have that Antonio has not. And as the water stills for a moment, it lifts me up. It's heavier than my expensive clothes, though, and weighs more than my hollowed heart. And is there really any point? Drowning in Antonio's arms appeals more to me than breathing without them encasing me.

The Atlantic taunts me with oxygen however, anyway. As if it's saying, 'this is what you could have. Why are you surrendering when you could have something like this?' But I'm not sure which I prefer: the wailing and bellowing and dying screams above or the wonderful and beautiful and adorably shy boy singing to me below.

_Honestly, why can't you sing in English? I can't understand you. How should I know what you're saying? You could be insulting me or my family name, or singing about something immature and idiotic. I wouldn't put it past you._

_Oh, Lovi. The only insult I've ever spoken about you was when I compared you to the dawn over the sea. You are so much more beautiful._

And I can't help the sob forming in my chest, berthing, and being swamped by the water as it wells in my throat, and pours in my nose.

And I know that Antonio has already gone. Broken by the ocean. And I hope that the water wasn't as cold as it is here.

And Antonio is gone, isn't he? Gone. He's been gone for hours now. Lying in a bed of sand, pillowed by shells. Or perhaps a bed of steel, and his pillow is another member of the Black Gang. But he's gone, and oh, God, why isn't the water cold enough to numb this?

And I feel so guilty, because I never told him how much I love him, always leaving my insults to convey that message loud and clear. I love you, Antonio. I love you. I love you. I love you. For a thousand breaths I will never take, _I love you. _

I want to cry. I want to cry. Why can't I cry? The salt of the sea is nothing compared to the salt of my tears. Tears, caught in the currents taking me up once more. Hefted in Antonio's grip, up and up and up. Why? I don't want it to. Why would I want to live on dry land when I could live forever on Antonio's wet sand, where I know that he is also, somewhere, somewhere.

I swallow. I swallow and swallow and don't stop, because I need to sink, and be in Antonio's arms, so sweet, and so freezing. _No,_ I shout. _No, I'm not leaving. NO! _But the grip on my preserver will not wane and then I'm lifted, up, up, up, and strangely enough there is no more screaming. But there is something, dull and wrapped in fine cotton and fine dinners and snide aristocracy, and I oh, how I loathe it.

_Don't be like that, Lovi, _Antonio speaks to me. Wipes the hair plastered to my face away, and blinds me with his smile. _You're safe now, look, you're safe. And you've gotta stay safe for me, yeah? You've got to stay _alive!"

"Can you hear me, _Lovi? _Come on, boy, stay with me!"

_I want to stay with you, Antonio. I'm safe with you, Antonio…_

_No you're not, love, you're _safe now, you're safe now, we're helping."

"Get a blanket, he's _freezing cold, down here, Lovi. You would hate it. It's nothing like Italy. Or Spain. Go there for me, yeah? I want you to do that. I want you to go Spain for me, for us, like how we said we would._

_But I don't speak Spanish, how am I supposed to get around? How am I supposed to do it without you with me?_

_Learn it, then. See, that's another reason I need you to live. But you'll be a little sick later, I think, from all the sea water _he's swallowed. _Why would you do that, silly?_ Bloody Hell, we should have come back sooner…"

_Hey, but you'll _pull through, _yeah? You're so strong. And just remember that I love you. I'll always love you, beautiful, strong, fiery Lovi._

I splutter then, because I think I can cry now, and an ocean rises from my gut and floods the floor of the life boat. A cry, maybe a cheer, and more voices that aren't his. His has gone, I think, because all I can hear anymore is the ringing in my ears and the thumping of my head and the breaking of my heart, shattering as She did, slipping down into the Atlantic to be with Antonio. Oh, how I envy Her.

But even as my eyes come to focus, watching all the white bobbing on the surface, no tears come. Even as my chest is torn apart, and in my head I'm screaming to get back into the cold, because that's where he is, and even though I can feel the chain of his necklace, ice cutting frozen into my neck like it cut Her, I think I might be okay. Because when I close my eyes, Antonio is still smiling, and he's still gazing at me so lovingly, like he did after he loved me, and he's still laughing and stroking my face. I can feel him hugging me, his body all hot and sticky and sooty from the boilers, the heavy scent of coal I can still smell in his hair. I can just close my eyes, and I'm all right.

"Can you hear me, boy? You're gonna live. You're gonna live. Can you hear me? Can you speak? It's okay. You're gonna live."


End file.
